


The Ties that Bind

by aspiringtoeloquence



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-09-23 16:09:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9664973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aspiringtoeloquence/pseuds/aspiringtoeloquence
Summary: Short, quickly written pieces for Critical Role Relationship Week 2017 (Tags will be updated as pieces are added).Day 1: Cassandra & Vex'ahliaDay 2: Pike & ScanlanDay 3: Shaun Gilmore & Vax'ildanDay 4: Cassandra & Vax'ildanDay 5: Jarett & PercyDay 6: Pike & Lady KimaDay 7: Percy & Vex'ahlia





	1. Spring

**Author's Note:**

> Day One of Critical Role Relationship Week: Cassandra de Rolo & Vex'ahlia

Cassandra de Rolo is self-aware enough to recognize that her adolescent experience was unique in several ways, not least of which the fact that most of the people she might have once described as a friend are dead.

She is getting used to having so many aspects of her life be _hers_ again: freedom (both mental and physical), responsibility she was never supposed to inherit, her brother, her city, a future for Whitestone and for herself…

She doesn’t really think about friendship, about secrets whispered with Whitney in lessons. She doesn’t think the daughter of the family’s trusted valet, Sarin, who had learned to ride horses with her, helped try to convince her mother that she was old enough to ride to town by herself. She doesn’t think about stealing buns from the castle kitchens, or the notes she used to pass.

She sees the ease that her brother has with his friends, the teasing and occasional hostility that belie real, honest caring, and a familiar thorn of envy makes itself known in her heart.

She will never know what might have happened if she had not been left in the snow that day, and while she loves her brother, loves him with all the forgiveness and exasperation she has in her, part of her wonders if friendship, this manner of family, might have been hers too.

It occurs to her, of course, that she is developing what might be interpreted as friendships now. She is fond of Shaun and Allura, certainly. Allura even reminds her of Vesper, a little, in her more commanding moments; when she steps in and reminds them, reminds Vox Machina, who they are. She enjoys Zahra’s company, and finds Kima to be refreshingly honest. Even Kynan, mercurial as he is, has his moments.

She is not, however, familiar with the etiquette of adult friendship, and so when Vex’ahlia barrels into her study apologetically one afternoon, insisting no urgency, she’s a little out of her element.

Vex’ahlia looks slightly disheveled, and Cassandra bites down on the impulse to comment.

“I was looking for –”

“I think Percy is in his workshop –”

“Actually I wanted to talk to you.”

Cassandra places down her pen ( _“always make the person addressing you feel listened to,” her mother’s voice reminds her_ ). “Certainly. What can I do for you?”

Vex pauses for too long a moment, then shifts her weight to her other foot. “Did you want to go outside? I was thinking of looking at the work Keyleth’s done in the gardens.”

She’s surprised, but knows she is well trained enough that it doesn’t show. “Of course. Let me just finish this letter. I’m arranging for the boys to spend some time horseriding, they seem to have taken a shine to it.”

“The boys?”

“Kyor and Hunin –” when Vex’ahlia looks confused, Cassandra pauses, makes sure her features are carefully neutral, “the boys you brought back from the fire plane?”

“Right!” Vex’ahlia looks slightly embarrassed, but holds her chin high. “It’s just been a hectic few weeks, you know. How are the dears?”

“They are… settling in.” She doesn’t really know how to describe it, the slow way the boys seem to be realizing their lives have been changed. She remembers that feeling, feels it still, the dawning realization that the life you had become resigned to was no longer all you had. They have been spending a great deal of time in the stables, when they aren’t in lessons, and Cassandra has already decided she’ll gift them each a horse when they feel a little more at home.

The idea of this castle as a home again still feels a little strange, sometimes.

She pulls on a light cloak as they leave the room and nods to the guards stationed near the doors. She is grateful that security has been slightly scaled back, although the assassin attack is still on everyone’s minds.

(Her hand brushed the dagger at her hip, just briefly, and she finds comfort in its presence. She has not needed to use it, not since – but she will always be prepared.)

They are in the grounds, the bite of the wind just short of enough to make it unpleasant. Vex’ahlia is silent, and Cassandra follows her lead as they walk together through the still-recovering foliage.

“I wanted to check with you about…” Vex’ahlia trails off, eyes on the path ahead, and then she stops. They are not too far from a fountain ( _it was Ludwig’s favorite part of the garden, he liked pushing his toys around the base–_ ), and after a moment she crosses and flops down onto the wide rim. The water is barely a trickle, but it seems a large sound in the quiet.

“Vex’ahlia, is everything  –” Cassandra settles a foot away from her, on the smoothest part of the stone.

“You can call me Vex, if you’d like.” She tilts her head. “I don’t remember if I’ve ever said.”

_I don’t think you’ve ever been here long enough_ , Cassandra thinks, but does not say. “Vex, is something wrong?”

Vex laughs quickly, brightly. “No, not at all, darling. I just – I was thinking about my land, you know –”

“I believe it has been cleared,” Cassandra replies, relief at the lack of some sudden dangerous reveal almost palpable.

“Yes. I had some ideas, and I was wondering if you’d perhaps like to – to weigh in.”

“It’s not public land,” Cassandra assures her. “You’re free to do with it as you wish.”

“I know.” Vex’ahlia – Vex – smiles. “I just have one or two ideas, things that might be – and I thought it might be nice to have your input.”

The sound of lumbering steps approaches, and they both look up to see Trinket making his way across the garden to Vex, whose sleeve he begins to tug on insistently.

“What’s wrong buddy?” Vex coos to the large, vicious mammal currently drooling on her armor.

Cassandra has no idea what the bear replies, but Vex nods at the growling noises that follow. “Tell her I’ll be right there.” She turns to Cassandra. “Keyleth needs my help with something, but I was just going to – Zahra, Pike and I are going to have drinks tonight. Keyleth too. You’re welcome to join us.”

Her voice is casual and bright, but she is clearly waiting for an acknowledgement, and so Cassandra clears her throat and lets the corners of her mouth tilt up. “I believe Grog mentioned something you picked up in Marquet that he said everyone ought to try.”

Vex laughs, more freely this time. “Whatever you like, darling.” She wiggles her fingers as she heads back towards the castle, and Cassandra is left sitting on the stone, the trickle of water behind her.

There is a flower that grows in Whitestone, a small yellow thing that truthfully might almost be considered a weed for the way it pops up in unexpected places. Cassandra always liked it, the sweetness of its scent. She used to bring them to her mother whenever she played, plucked from wherever she had been that day.

She had not spent much time in the gardens when the Briarwoods were in Whitestone, had not seen much of their disrepair, but looking around now she sees the ways that some things are struggling back to life. Trees trimmed, the dead branches cut away, ivy tamed and flower beds bare but for indentations where seeds are being planted.

She looks down to gather herself, head back to the castle to finish the work she must do, and her eye catches on a flash of color at the base of the fountain, just near her boot. A small cluster of yellow flowers.

She plucks one – just one – and pulls it to her nose.

It isn’t all she remembers, but she smiles at its sweetness all the same.  


	2. Faith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 2 of Critical Role Relationship week: Pike & Scanlan  
> Spoilers for episode 85 of Critical Role

It is so late it is practically early.

She is in the Whitestone kitchens, the large, usually busting space dark but for the lamp she has set on the table next to her. She has a book propped up on a jug, but she can feel her eyes straining as she tries to focus on the page in the dim glow. Truth be told, she can’t remember a word, isn’t entirely sure where she even grabbed it from, but sitting here picking at the piece of bread she scavenged for herself, sipping at a glass of milk, feels somehow more fitting than tossing and turning in bed.

She’s still a little drunk, definitely, but not nearly as drunk as she was when she and Vax stumbled their way back to the castle a short while ago. Vax has gone to bed, and she assumes the rest of her friends – her family – have done the same.

Well, all save one.

She didn’t speak up in that room, and part of her wonders if she had, if Scanlan might not be gone.

But she didn’t, and he is, and part of her knows why.

When she went to sea she was so angry and lost. She wasn’t angry with Vox Machina, but she remembers such a sense of helplessness, everything around her a reminder of the weakness she felt. And she understands why Scanlan would want to get away from that, from them, for a little while, why being with Kaylie, being a father, is something he feels he needs to explore.

It just hurts like the nine hells, is all.

She has always known the truth in some of Scanlan’s harsh words. He is a good liar, and part of the reason she has always worried about him is that he is so very good at making things seem as though they are fine. To see that crack, see his anger crackle as saix things that had only the barest veneer of truth to them, was so difficult to witness. He had hurt them, as he had intended to – consciously or no – and while she can’t imagine him never coming back, she doesn’t exactly know what can be said to mend those cracks.

She saw Vex on her way down to the kitchens, curled up in a chair by the fire. She had been staring into the flames, her face dark and hair escaping from its braid, and when Pike had paused, sure Vex knew she was there, she hadn’t looked up.

She wonders what will be said between them when Scanlan returns.

She wonders, having seen the ways that each of her friends is feeling this loss, if healing this – all these wounds that are both old and fresh – is something they can do together.

They have fought dragons, saved cities, traversed continents. Surely this is not beyond them?

When she prays she does so for her family, and asks that Saranrae watch over Scanlan and

Kaylie where she cannot.

She has brought him back to life twice with Saranrae’s blessing, and of all the thoughts and worries darting around in her mind, the one she knows she might never shake is that Scanlan does not see the group the way she does, especially when she has been away. They are connected by so many threads – love, friendship, heartbreak, worry, guilt – and having been tangled in them for so long he cannot see the threads for all the knots and frays.

There are many things she does not yet know. Of her feelings for Scanlan, of her calling, of the world and all the danger it holds. But there are also things that she does. She knows her family, and having needed to find herself outside them for a little while, she can trust that Scanlan will do the same. She can have faith.

  
At least, she hopes so.


	3. So I Won't Be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 3: Shaun Gilmore & Vax'ildan  
> I wrote some notes in October on this very subject –– it turns out this was the perfect time to use them, scattered and non-linear as they may be.

It is strange to know, with such certainty, another path you might have taken in life to find a different kind of happiness.

Vax is conscious of it, what might have been, never more so than in the moments when they return to Whitestone and he sees Shaun. It has been hard on them all, the last few months, and they have each had their mission to fulfill, but there is something he finds so comforting about Gilmore’s presence; a reminder that they have survived, and that a little piece of their lives in Emon, a friend, survives on here, even if it seems the two of them aren’t entirely sure how they fit anymore.

He returns to Whitestone and sees Gilmore alive, magnificent, himself, and has to remind himself that the things he wants are not all things he has chosen. He has chosen friendship, and that is precious. Part of honoring that is recognizing that his friend respects that choice, but that they are both still learning what it means.

His feelings for Keyleth are  _ right now _ , they are fire and battle, comfort and hope for a future where they don’t have to sleep with one eye open. She is fingers twined by a campfire and indomitable strength, softness and steel. There is urgency, and care, and a promise of all the time that he has left. Keyleth is reality, the divine, a future greater than he can even imagine. He does not regret his choice, regret her. He means every promise he speaks.

Gilmore is another life. Gilmore is someday, and magic, a world where those battles are not a life’s calling. He is banter, words like caresses, and the light hearted moments based on the depth of feelings never said aloud. 

He wonders if he might have met Shaun in a world where there was no Vox Machina, or in a world where this family was not drawn together by adventure or danger, but by something more quiet, more sublime. He wonders if, in that world, they might have been a magic all of their own.

Vax is not foolish enough to think he’ll live a long life. He hopes for it, but does not expect it, and so he tries to relish each moment of clarity or connection with his friends, his family, whenever they come.

He thinks of a young Shaun scratching his way out of Marquet with a sigil carved into the closet in his bedroom, of Gilmore lying bleeding to death in his arms, Vax unable to imagine a world without his spark in it. He thinks of Gilmore standing upright, crackling with power in the face of a dragon’s fury (once alone, then later, with them, where he belongs). 

Vax knows himself, sometimes to the point of wanting to escape it, and he knows that what he feels for Shaun in this life is real. It is as real as his feelings for Keyleth, and all the honeyed teasing, theatrics, and innuendo is part of what makes them who they are.

He feels greedy with it, the desire and tenderness and  _ want _ . 

_ It would not be fair, it is not fair. _

_ (I do not want to be a liar.) _

_ So I won’t be. _

Vax is not foolish enough to believe he can have everything that he wants in this life.

He already has so much more than he deserves. 


	4. Legacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You have a lot of strength in you,” he remarks, with a casual flick of his eyes to the wall, and she knows he is not speaking of the throw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slowly but surely (and belatedly) completing Critical Role Relationship Week. By the way, [this is the dagger.](https://thingsvmwouldwear.tumblr.com/post/157640219875)

She sits at her desk, skimming the trade agreement sent to the council this afternoon, but finds that her eyes tire at the thought of reading another paragraph about the value of beets. It is not long after nightfall, but her day has been a long parade of meetings and paperwork, and she knows there is still so much to do. She ought to go to bed early, perhaps, be ready for her meeting with the council in the morning, she thinks as she moves to make a note on the side of the paper for Archie (they’ll need to make sure that the farmers are able to meet the proposed demand before they agree, although the goods Wildmount is offering in return are much needed). Her mother had often said that a good night’s sleep was a leader’s most important tool, although her children had always suspected that was largely a tactic to try to convince them not to raid the kitchens at night (a tactic that proved largely unsuccessful).

Still, Cassandra gathers her things and debates whether to enquire for a plate of bread before she sleeps. Although the kitchens prepared a fine meal for everyone, she had been delayed by a quibble on grain pricing and unable to attend. Percy dropped by with a plate sometime between the letters she was writing (with prompting, she is sure, the two of them have always been absentminded when absorbed by work), and she had nibbled through it while they discussed re-equipping the castle, but there is the beginnings of peckishness deep in her stomach.

The path from her office ( _her mother’s office_ , she finds it calming, sometimes, to remember that, when it doesn’t make her chest ache) to the kitchens does not pass any bedrooms, only the library, music room, and several studies. She sees Zahra through the open door of her favorite study and waves, making a mental note to procure some more supplies to aide her in her enchanting.

The halls are fairly quiet, and although she can guess at where the rest of the inhabitants of the castle are, she does not feel the urge to seek out any company in particular. She has spent so much of today in conversation, and is absurdly grateful to find the kitchen temporarily empty. She can hear a voice humming from a pantry nearby, but is able to put together a quick plate of bread and fruit without interruption.

On her way back toward her bedroom she hears a _thunk_ close by, and the hand not holding her plate flies to the dagger at her hip.

She is passing the door to what was once Professor Anders’ study, the room since stripped to have any useful furnishings moved elsewhere. The door is closed.

She hears another _thunk_ , a projectile hitting something solid.

She pauses, then knocks.

There is a long silence, and the door swings open to reveal Vax’ildan, a dagger gripped loosely in his offhand.

“Cassandra.”

“Forgive me for interrupting,” she says quickly. “I just heard – I wondered who might be in here.”

Vax nods, them inclines his head towards the wall, swinging the door further open to reveal a mismatched wood panel stuck clumsily to the wall – a makeshift target. There are multiple, precise gouges in the wood.

“We do have a training room,” is all Cassandra can think to say. Vox Machina spent a week re-furnishing the training facilities once the dragons were no longer looming on the horizon, as well as helping Jarrett upgrade the guard equipment. It hadn’t been cheap, she knows, but both her brothers friends and the guard have been making great use of it.

Vax’s lips flick into a smirk. “I know. My sister is there now with your brother. I wanted to find somewhere a little more… quiet.”

“It’s I who should apologize, I didn’t mean to…” She takes in the room, the first room she ever met this man in, and swallows. “I’d best be getting back to –”

“Let’s see what you’ve got.”

He gestures to the wall, looking curious. _You’ve seen it_ , she thinks, but her hand still twitches towards her dagger. She tries not to feel patronized by the request; his tone isn’t a challenge.

He notices her hand and her hesitation and holds a hand out for her plate for food. “May I?”

She hands it to him, more out of instinct than anything else, and eyes the sheet of wood across the room.

The study is a little under twenty feet across at its widest, slightly closer than she’s usually comfortable throwing, but she pulls her dagger out, feels the familiar weight of it in her palm.

( _“You will protect us,” Delilah says, caressing her cheek, and Cassandra cannot remember why she might have ever done otherwise._ )

“It’s a beautiful blade.”

Vax’ildan is looking at her, and her eyes slide to the ornate weapon in her hand, the slight curve and the intricate detail that forms a lattice in the upper part of the blade.

“It was Vesper’s.” Vesper had always preferred a short sword, but the dagger had been gifted to her on her eighteenth birthday (with great ceremony, just like Julius’ greatsword), so it had always been special. Cassandra had found it – after, kept it safe even when she wasn’t entirely sure why.

Cassandra feels very young, all of a sudden.  

She snaps her eyes to the wall, shifts her stance and whips her arm back. By the time her skirts feel the momentum the blade is buried in the dark wood next to Vax’s target. She tightens all the muscles in her hand and releases them, tries to let go of the tremor, and hears rather than sees Vax’ildan move towards it.

“You have a lot of strength in you,” he remarks, with a casual flick of his eyes to the wall, and she knows he is not speaking of the throw.

_(There was a portrait there, where he stands, pulling the blade from the wall with one easy movement. Professor Anders and his charges, the young De Rolos._

_It is long gone now, burned with the rest of the Briarwoods’ belongings, but she knows that the dagger would have landed in Anders’ forehead.)_

“It’s unfortunate,” she says, her voice steady, “that I don’t get to practice as much as I should.”

In truth she might have found the time to practice more, if it weren’t that she often did so alone. For a long time there was no one really to spar with, and now her duties and position make it awkward to find a partner.

There is also the fact that often, late at night in the training room, she still sometimes sees faces on the targets as she aims.

“May I make a suggestion?” Vax’ildan asks, and she might say no. She might pick up her plate and go to sleep, leave behind this room and the scars in the walls.

Instead, she inclines her head, inviting him to continue.

“This blade is balanced differently,” he holds in his palm, indicating the pommel. “You might try this –” he demonstrates a grip, then flips to hold the pommel out to her – “to give you a little more control.” His eyes flick to the wall, then back to her. “If that’s what you’re looking for.”

His eyes hold hers for a long moment, and when she takes the dagger back she sees that he’s right. A slight shift of her index finger makes this blade just a little more comfortable in her hand, and when she whips around to throw it into the opposite wall – a scant fifteen feet away, it lands directly in the groove of a previous attack. It’s likely a scar from the fight on the day she met their strange little group, the day that Percival returned to her.

This time she fetches the dagger herself, prying it out with a slightly less fluid motion and aware of eyes on her. “We can’t all,” she says after a pause, “have a magic belt.”

Vax smirks at that. “It is pretty handy.” He moves next to her, aims at his original target, and flicks a simple silver dagger into the exact center of the target. It evaporates. “Think you can hit that three times out of five?”

With a dagger in her hand Cassandra feels dangerous, and it’s easy to believe she might still be the girl the Briarwoods believed her to be – pliable, useful, potentially lethal but ultimately disposable. But she remembers the first time she picked up a dagger, Julius and Vesper egging her on while their fight instructor talked about the finer points of marksmanship. She remembers Julius’ whistle when she hit her first target, Percy’s hand on her face as he saw her alive, her assurances to Jarett and Percy that she could look after herself.

She wonders if in another life she might have gotten a dagger for her eighteenth birthday.

Cassandra grips Vesper’s dagger, moves her index finger, and hits the target, splintering the wood with a heavy crack. “Two gold says I hit five out of five. Double says you can’t do the same.”

Vax tosses a different dagger at the wall and appears next to the panel with a nod. _Fucking vestiges_. “You’re on.”

Cassandra plucks a piece of cheese from her abandoned plate, rolls her sleeves up as close to her elbow as the fabric allows, and gestures for her dagger.

She closes her eyes for an instant with her fingers around the pommel, and when she opens them to follow through with the blade there are still no ghosts in this room.

It’s a start.


	5. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 5: Jarett and Percy  
> I wanted to write something with these two that was a little quiet, so this is it.

Percy finds Jarett easily enough. He seems to be observing rather than actively training right now, and so Percy joins him at the fence that separates out one of the small sparring arenas from the rest of the compound. There are two humans in armor sparring – a woman Percy doesn’t recognize, and a man he feels like he’s seen somewhere around town, although he wouldn’t be able to place him.

Jarett nods as Percy appears beside him, doesn’t take his eyes away from the sparring as he says “Percival, good to see you! Can I help you with something?”

“Actually, yes.” The woman is faster on her feet and Percy watches her make contact with the man’s armor.

Jarett makes an approving noise. “Good, now watch your arms, you must follow through with the strike!” He glances back at Percy with a grin. “You come to spar?”

He watches the women strike again, miss, and take a blow from the man’s backhanded swing in return. “Ah, not right now, thank you. I came because we are going back to Emon for a short while – a few days, at least, to get things on track.” He sees Jarett’s face tighten at the mention of the city, and although most of the visible scars have healed, he knows there are some that will remain for a long while yet. “I know you had expressed interest in staying here, for now –”

“As I told Vex’ahlia, I will go where you need me.” Jarett looks him in the eye, and Percy knows it is true. He is impressed by it; loyalty has always meant a great deal to him.

“We appreciate that.” He takes a long pause, watches the woman rally and circle her opponent. “You are valued in Whitestone, and I think there is much you can continue to give this city, but we wanted to let you know.” Percy clears his throat. “Should you desire a change, Greyskull Keep will always be available to you.”

“You are all going to move back to Emon?”

“I don’t know. None of us are quite – I have duties here, and some of the others also have… things to occupy them in Whitestone. But there is some measure of – we would like to rebuild our home. I suspect we’ll be back and forth for a while.” He looks beyond the barracks, back towards the castle and then over what is visible of his hometown. “And then, after everything, I suppose we’ll see where we are.”

He has seen Jarett drunk to the point of incoherence, he has seen him beaten and bloody, he has seen him fighting through his fear, fighting for them and for his life. He does not think he has ever seen Jarett look defeated. Not until this brief moment.

“You and I both know it will be a long while before Emon is even a shadow of the city it was,” Percy continues, as the students obey the orders of an armored guard across the compound and begin to pack away their equipment.

“Falk, keep your guard up, stop letting them stab you!” Jarett yells at one of the recruits, then he snorts and lowers his voice. “When I was last there it looked more like some circle of hell.”

“There was a time I would have said that about this city.” Percy breathes in the air, coughs a little at the dust stirred by the trampling of military boots, and presses away from the fence as Jarett moves to do the same. “It hasn’t come back to life overnight either.”

“So I’ve heard.” Jarett scans the courtyard, but his eyes don’t seem to land on anything. “I feel sometimes like I should go back, you know. It’s not like Marquet, but – I feel that someday I must.”

“I am familiar with the feeling.” He catches Jarett’s eye. “But I will say that you have done valuable work here. You are more than welcome to stay in Whitestone until you wish a change.”

“Perhaps I will do this,” Jarett nods. “If I visit Ank’Harel it will be nice to come back to somewhere a little more… quiet.” His eyes meet Percy’s again. “Until you all have need of me, of course.”

“It may be a foolish hope, but I do plan on living life a little more quietly, at least for a short while.” Someone calls Jarett’s name from near the building. “Do you have an hour or so this afternoon?” Percy adds before Jarett follows the sound. “I have some thoughts on upgrading castle defence I’d like to run by you.”

“Of course.” Jarett nods at him, back straight and something of that familiar grin back in his eye. Percy is not one to note such things, but he knows there have been discussions over Jarett’s morale, and so he’s happy to have this to report back. “I look forward to meeting this new member of the group I hear so much about.”

“Oh, Tary? Yes, he’s quite interesting.” Kashaw appears over Jarett’s shoulder before Jarett can respond, and after a brief conversation about supplies (and a gruff greeting) the two are called away.

Percy heads back to the castle, pauses on the section of the path that has the best view, remembers looking at that same view with Whitney next to him, Oliver and Cassandra already running ahead down the path.

He watches the town for a moment and sees the signs of life he had so long feared might be gone forever.

He knows what it is like to be afraid to go home.  


	6. Rubble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 6 of Critical Role Relationship Week (belatedly): Pike Trickfoot and Lady Kima of Vord

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This references (vaguely) events that take place in episode 88, as well as covering events that occurred through episode 79.

Emon is a mess.

It is a city on fire, and even when the flames have been extinguished, when druids and mages have come to try to restore the lands that have been damaged, Pike still looks at Emon and barely recognizes parts of it. The cloudtop, once the jewel of Emon, is in ruins, and although the citizens of Emon have, in the course of a just a few days, done a remarkable amount of work for a city (and people) so ravaged, the no-longer-smouldering-ruins are a far cry from what they used to be.

But Pike also sees the life there. There are parts of the city that are now rubble – everywhere Thordak or his army saw the possibility for power or money – but many buildings are still intact.

The Clasp, although she is wary of them, have turned out to be useful in distributing supplies and information, as well as organizing efforts to relocate and rehome those who find themselves without a home to go back to.

Allura is in talks with Syngorn, which has returned from the Feywild. Pike knows that a small part of their army has remained, helping to keep order as the city rebuilds, and Emon’s own fighting forces (heavily depleted) are reforming to do the same. Allura, Topher, and Assum are all working on a larger scale, pulling in favors from far and wide.

She scrys, occasionally, as has become her habit, on Vox Machina. She tries not to be invasive, but it’s difficult sometimes to know that her friends are facing danger without her (even if the dangers, as far as she knows, are lessened now that the Conclave has been defeated).

She spends time with the various clerics who have returned to Emon, with the wounded and still-healing, with the dead. She spends a little time on official business with Allura and those on the council (as a technical member herself) but prefers to be aiding and leave the logistics to those more politically inclined.

Kima, who has been helping to rebuild Emon in a more literal sense, is of the same mind.

“I don’t know how Ally deals with all that stuff,” she tells Pike one afternoon, holding a large piece of rubble in her arms. They are in Abadar’s Promenade, not far from where Gilmore’s shop used to stand, and Kima has been with a team clearing the rubble from a building that used to be a clothing emporium. Pike had never shopped there, but she remembers that Vex and Tiberius had both liked it.

Kima tosses the loose piece of stone into a waiting cart and looks over to where Pike is bandaging the hand of one of the others clearing the rubble. It’s barely a scratch, small enough that the man tells her not to even bother with magic, to save it for someone who needs it, and so she carefully winds the cloth around his palm. When he thanks her, moving away to continue working, she finally answers Kima.

“Well, you know, I think everyone helps in their own way.”  Kima acknowledges this, brushing through some smaller stones to pluck out a stray piece of silver, which she tucks into a pouch attached to the cart for that purpose. She’s still making the same face, though, a look of confusion mixed with a sort of awe.

“Yeah, I don’t really get that stuff. Sitting in meetings, talking with stuffy –” Rather than continue, she shudders. “It sucks. Much better out here.” She gives a big, obvious breath of air, slightly ruined by her subsequent cough at the dust and ash still present. When Pike gets up, concerned, she waves a hand.  “You know, last time I was here was in Winter? Wasn’t as cold as Vasselheim or Whitestone, but boy, you’d feel it. Right down to your bones.”

The air still feels heavy, but Pike isn’t sure if it’s because of the ash or because of the weight of everything that has happened in this city.

She has been spending a lot of time with Kima in the last couple of days, partially because they are generally working towards the same small goals (in very different ways), but also because Kima’s irreverence, her tendency to look at something and say exactly what she thinks, is nice.

It reminds her of Grog, and being in this city is so strange without her family that she looks for all the comfort she can get.

She is due at the temple to meet several other clerics, including a cleric of Melora who has been heading the efforts to care for the wounded that the Clasp brought underground for their own protection. With all of the healers called to the city to help (many of whom are likely still on their way), it has been difficult to believe that she might not be of more use with Vox Machina. But there are still so many people hurting here, and even with mass healing spells Pike knows that it will be days or weeks before everyone injured is properly treated. She feels better about the idea of leaving as more healers arrive to share the load, but also cannot pretend she and Sarenrae are not needed.

“You okay?” Kima is squinting at her as she sips from a waterskin, looking a little concerned. “You were all…” she trails off, waving a hand at Pike’s head in a way that reminds her of Grog more than ever.

“I’m good,” she smiles, and she hears Vex in her head. _You don’t always have to put on a brave face, dear_.

_Yeah, I do._

Kima makes a noise. “Yeah, okay.” She gets up and stretches, wiping a sheen of sweat onto her sleeve. “I wouldn’t worry about them too much. Big guy’ll take care of ‘em.”

“I know.” She has her hand on her holy symbol before she even thinks about it, and says a quick, silent prayer to Sarenrae.

When she bids Kima goodnight, and scrys on them later, they are preparing to go underwater, trying on equipment she doesn’t understand. She is comforted to see them there, laughing. She goes to sleep smiling.

  
She wakes with a start only a short while later, as though Sarenrae herself has shaken her from sleep, and knows that something is very wrong.


	7. Anamnesis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 6: Vex & Percy (Vex/Percy)  
> "...and so you hold him close/to remind him/remind yourself/this is real"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something different with this one.
> 
> Better very late than never?

there are things you remember of your mother

a brightness in her smile

warm arms that tuck a blanket around your chin

the whisp of a feather

(not the ones your brother gave you, but –

a beginning)

as she tucked it into your hair

_ beautiful, my darling _

 

your brother says he hears her in your laugh

smells her in piles of fresh linens

and you cannot know for certain

the ways you are like your mother

(but it does make you smile to think, somehow

that you are making yourself in her image

even as its lines blur in your memory)

and you will always try

 

your love had a family once,

(before the one you have both found,

cobbled together brick by lost brick)

and he tells you a little of them,

sometimes with a tinge of shame

as though the very edges of the memories have been singed to ash

by his hands, his tongue, his fading memories

 

and so you hold him close

to remind him

remind yourself

_this is real_

 

though there has been little talk of an ‘us’

you allow yourselves these little intimacies,

curled under blankets in a house where you have fought ghosts

and fight them still


End file.
